


Welcome outstayed!

by Insecuriosity



Series: TF speedwriting challenge [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Pointless, Transformers speedwriting challenge, prompt: A character outstays his welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: Swindle gets an invitation from Deathsaurus to discuss business, but when it becomes clear that Deathsaurus doesn't really have the creds, Swindle thinks of something else he wants to get paid with.Written in +/- 2 and a half hours for the Tf Speedwriting challenge on tumblr.





	Welcome outstayed!

When Swindle had gotten a ping from Deathsaurus, he’d debated if it was worth responding to. The mech was great at ripping people apart, but he didn’t seem like the type to have anything worth trading for. Well, he had his stolen warworld, but Swindle knew exactly how much he could swindle from someone, and a warworld was a little beyond him.   
Knowing Deathsaurus, he just wanted fuel. He’d probably run through the reserves on the warworld by now, and was scrambling to get his bearings as a leader. It was incredibly uninspiring cargo. Not rare enough to fetch a big price, but desirable enough that you were a walking target if you were transporting a big load of it. 

He had considered just leaving an excuse and not flying over there. It was nowhere near his planned flightpath, and he really couldn’t afford to waste time on clients that didn’t pay out.   
But he’d never dealt with Deathsaurus before, and he couldn’t just leave a potential client when he didn’t know exactly what they could offer him. Who knew? Maybe Deathsaurus was susceptible to a scam here or there, and even if the worst came to the worst he could probably find some leakers on that scrappy warworld that were in need of a fix. 

Maybe Deathsaurus was desperate. Maybe Deathsaurus was willing to part with a lot more than just credits….  
Before he knew it, Swindle had already rescheduled most of his future meetings, and was on his way to intercept Deathsaurus’ warworld. Time to earn some shanix! 

-

Swindle had been wrong. Deathsaurus was most definitely NOT desperate, and he was not half as bad a leader as Swindle had expected him to be. 

Despite his many years of building the perfect pokerface, he could barely conceal just how impressed he was at the sights that greeted him when he arrived. The mecha manning the docking bay were professional and well-fuelled, the systems were secure and up-to-date, and the place was honest-to-Primus _clean._

“Deathsaurus has been notified of your arrival, he’ll be here soon. You can take a seat over there.” One of the soldiers said, before pointing him in the direction of an almost cosy-looking table and chair set. There was even a complimentary cube of energon waiting there for him, as if they were in the golden age instead of a mangled mess of distrust and paranoia. 

He didn’t drink the energon without checking it for contaminants – he was smarter than that – but it turned up clean, and he lounged in the cushions as he sipped his drink.   
He’d gotten into the salesman business for the credits, sure, but part of the allure back in the day had been the opulence that came with wealthy clients. The little spiel where both parties exchanged useless niceties as they ate ridiculously overpriced treats while they sat in ridiculously soft chairs, sometimes with an erotic dancer on the table for something to look at when the discussion fell into a lull. 

While the erotic dancers and stupid-expensive things were missing, most Decepticons these days preferred to do business with Swindle at gunpoint. Sometimes they didn’t even invite him to do business and just invaded his ship instead – only to get incredibly upset and angry when they found out he wasn’t carrying any rare and expensive cargo on board of his little cruiser. 

The sliding door to the room opened, and the enormous form of Deathsaurus stepped inside – deftly flicking his kibble so that it didn’t collide with the doorframe. Swindle rapidly scanned the mech’s posture and expression, putting his findings into the newly compiled Deathsaurus client-file.   
Deathsaurus, for all his battle prowess and power, looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Swindle could smell credits. If this wasn’t Deathsaurus’ first time buying stuff from an actual big-time merchant, Swindle would eat his hand. 

“Deathsaurus, what a surprise it was to get an invitation from you!” Swindle said amicably, standing up to offer a friendly handshake. 

“Swindle.” Deathsaurus said. He was eyeing Swindle’s hand as if it was hiding a weapon, and limpy put his palm against Swindle’s without gripping or shaking. “Sorry I couldn’t be here right away. Something came up that I had to deal with.”

“No worries, no worries.” Swindle said with a big grin, an idea for optimal profit already forming. “It happens to the best of us. Especially on a ship this large and intricate! Do you do tours?”

“Uh, no we don’t.” Deathsaurus sat down, and he looked comically out of place on the chairs. “I need some stuff for the engines, but I don’t know where to get it and neither do the engineers. Leozarack said he knew a guy, and you were that guy.”

Leozarack hm? It took a little digging, but Swindle indeed had a client’s file of the mech on hand. A one-time client who’d been after very specific Xianacian fetish body gear, scaled up to Cybertronian size and altered to fit a beastformer. 

“I pride myself on being able to find whatever my clients desire, but if it’s rare or hard to find I’m afraid it’ll be difficult to offer you a cheap price.”

“Money’s not an issue.” Deathsaurus spoke, regaling Swindle with the magical words that never failed to bring his fuel-pump to a stutter. 

“What is the name of the ‘stuff’ you need?” He asked. 

Deathsaurus turned his head to the side and muttered something into his commlink. “Klink says it’s called Fluioil? Wait. Uh, Fluioil Prim X-238 beta.”

Swindle had it. It was not by far a rare substance, but it just so happened to be one that he’d monopolised early in the war when it’d started to look like every engineer had started to used it for their builds.   
The mech creating it was all too happy that he got to plod along on his little dirtball with 12% of the profits, and Swindle raked in the big bucks. 

“Hmmm… Not the easiest to come by, but I do have a stockpile of it lying around in a warehouse somewhere… How much do you need?” Swindle asked. 

Deathsaurus turned to his commlink again. “… ‘bout a million liters? … Fluid change was a few hundred years overdue. How much will that be?” 

“Hmm…” Swindle kept his face serious and professional, even as he was jumping for joy on the inside. Even if he didn’t hike up the price to scandalous levels, he would be making bank! How much could he ask?   
He waited for a moment. “That would be at least 16.5 million credits, excluding shipping costs.” 

Deathsaurus frowned. “…I think I can pay that. Yea.”

Swindle couldn’t believe his luck. Not even any haggling? No nothing?   
“Hmm, well, I hope you’ll forgive me, but in these times it’s not easy to trust mecha on their word alone. We haven’t been clients before, so how do I know you’ll have the credits ready when I come to deliver? If it comes down to it, I’m just a single salesmech up against a big ol’ warship…”

Deathsaurus had practised his pokerface, clearly. But Swindle didn’t miss the little twitch from the mech’s wing kibble. 

Ah. So that had been the plan hm? It seemed like yet another deal was going to fall through. War had really done a number on the free market. War was profitable, but only if there were still some places that were safe to retreat to, to store your stuff and actually SPEND the credits you earned.   
At this point in time Swindle was pretty much the only source of luxury around. The times of being pampered and massaged while you were being fed well-distilled energon and high-end pastries had died with the Golden Age. 

… Well… unless…. 

“But, as a gesture of goodwill, if you show me around your warworld I might be able to see some evidence of your wealth to ensure me that you’re speaking the truth.” Swindle said, acting as if he hadn’t seen through Deathsaurus’ plan. “I’m sure that if you can spare a few millions on oil, there’s some small luxuries around for you and your crew.”

There was a moment of silence between them, as Deathsaurus tried to figure out if he’d been seen through, but then his expression eased and he nodded. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. We have some expensive things on board, that we paid a lot of credits for. I’ll give you a tour to them!”

SUCCESS! Swindle threw back the last of his energon and put the cube on the table behind him. “Well then! Show the way!”  
He pretended not to notice when Deathsaurus opened up his commlink again, most likely to conspire with his crew. He had no doubt that Deathsaurus had no idea what Swindle considered luxurious, but with the state of Cybertron and its people these days, anything would be good. 

-

The ‘massage’ room had been shoddily assembled in a hurry. It was obvious at the very first glance that it had been an unused habsuite. The lighting bulbs had been quickly covered by some red and purple sheets of plastic, giving a nice intimate sheen to the room. It was a very nice attempt at disguising the fact that the massage table was in fact a medical berth that someone had piled high with polishing cloths and a plastic sheet.   
There was a nice statue with soft curves standing halfway hidden in a corner, and someone had sprayed polishing oil all around to try and hide the smell of dust and old ozone. 

A large mech with soft colouring stood anxiously at the side with a polishing cloth hanging on his left arm – a clever take on the cleaning cloth many high-end barista’s had on them to clean up spills from their more chemically unstable concoctions. 

“This is our massage place-…parlor.” Deathsaurus said. “This is Rendorr. He does the massages.”

Swindle looked around the room approvingly and lied down on the berth as if he belonged on it. “Hmm, odd name for a masseur.” He murmured. 

“… Lightsqueeze was not a good soldier name.” Deathsaurus said, keeping his face impressively blank. Swindle could practically feel Rendorr tremble with held-back rage. 

“I’ll take a light massage around my tires and shoulder plating today, and some flavoured low-grade please.” Swindle said, clapping his hands once to dismiss the hulking soldier. “Aren’t you going to take a massage yourself, Deathsaurus?”

“I have… um.” Deathsaurus floundered. “Rendorr is our only masseur and he works better on only one person. And we also only have one massage berth. And I need to grab… the servant who will make you your drink.”

Swindle said nothing and watched as Deathsaurus stared down a furious Rendorr before leaving the room in a hurry. 

“… Please lie down and relax. Sir.” Rendorr said with a tight voice, but he kept his hands in check. 

Firm touches worked around Swindle’s wheels and shoulder plates. Nothing like a real massage – a lot more like being fondled by someone doing their best not to arouse the one they were touching - but far more than Swindle had enjoyed in eaons.   
He sighed, and let himself melt into the lumpy polish-cloth covered table. A few moments later his drink arrived. Low grade with a sprinkling of ducat-grade gold, and a curly straw that had been made out of an engine part. 

This was the life. 

-

If there was anything greater than getting a massage for free, even if it was by a surly soldier who was about to kill someone with his glare alone, it was seeing just how much effort the warworld crew put into looking luxurious. 

“This is our swimming pool. It is still a warworld ship and we couldn’t lose too much valuable space, but there were a lot of people who wanted to be able to swim so…” Deathsaurus gestured at the room in front of them.

The ship’s lubricant storage tanks had been opened up and decorated, to act as an impromptu swimming pool. More polishing cloths and portable frame-dryers had been carted in from all over the ship, and a couple soldiers were sitting confusedly in the lubricant. 

“Ingenious!” Swindle grinned. “I imagine you guys go through a lot of clean lubricant this way. Pools are definitely not cheap, but I think I’ll skip a dive today. Didn’t you say you had a restaurant slash theatre?”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course, but are you sure you don’t want to swim? It’s fun! We cleaned the lubricant just yesterday if that’s what you’re worried about!” Deathsaurus said worriedly. Swindle was guessing that the team that was building the theatre still needed a little more time. 

“Hmm… Swimming was never my forte, but if you have a floating device….”

“We do.” Deathsaurus said. “Let me just go and … get that for you. Take a seat.”

Swindle sat himself down on the tarp-covered storage crate, and sat back to watch the soldiers swimming around in the lubricant. If he squinted he could almost imagine himself back on Cybertron, with the rich noble newsparks flailing around in the mercury pools. 

-

Swindle had never been one for theatre, but it was seriously growing on him.

Perhaps it had to do with the panicked faces of unskilled and untrained actors trying to follow a script that had been tossed together at the very last second as their commander was trying to glare them into a better performance.   
He hid his smile in his cube of energon, and then followed it up with a handful of energon goodies. They were a seemingly random selection of candies, most likely collected from the crew members, and Swindle loved knowing exactly how much shanix went into buying just a single box of these treats. 

“…I, Starscream, am now your leader!” One of the actors on stage screamed at an audial-piercing volume. His wide-armed gesture almost knocked over the statue that was standing behind him. It was the same one from the massage parlor, and Swindle thought he’d also spotted it near the pool. 

“Starscream, you have betrayed me for the last time!” The actor playing Megatron growled. He was really playing up the wheezy ‘old mech’ tone that could sometimes creep into Megatron’s speech, to the point where it sounded like he had dust stuck in his vocaliser. 

As far as Swindle could remember, this was the third time that thi exact exchange had happened, and the actor playing Soundwave looked about as dejected and hopeless as the actual Soundwave probably looked whenever he had to watch Starscream and Megatron do their thing. Shockwave’s actor, appropriately enough, looked bored out of his mind and was staring off into space. 

“It’s still a work in progress.” Deathsaurus said, and he almost sounded like he was genuine. “The last play was banned for starting fights in the public, so we can’t show that one at the moment.”

“Hmm…” Swindle nodded as he contemplated the energex that Deathsaurus had poured for him. It was bad business to get intoxicated while making deals, but he already knew he would be leaving here with nothing too useful – might as well get as many free things out of it as he could.   
He threw the glass back, and shivered in both appreciation and disgust at the extreme strength of the mixture. It was homebrew, by someone who most absolutely knew how to make good tasting slag. 

“Good vintage. That must be an older brand of Energex, it’s got a nice copper flavour at the end there. I’m getting a crick in my neck it feels like. Does your masseur take multiple appointments?”

-

Swindle had overdone it on… well… on everything. 

He must have, otherwise Deathsaurus’ crew wouldn’t be dragging him to his ship with tight, sour expressions. It must have been around that fifth drink, and the third massage, or maybe when he’d tripped into the lubricant ‘pool’ with his sixth drink, contaminating the whole batch.   
Deathsaurus was the one that helped him up the steep slope towards his little ship, very obviously fighting the urge to activate Swindle’s intake chip for him. 

Swindle had agreed to sell to them, and Deathsaurus hadn’t been savvy enough to ask him how it would go down. When shove came to push, Swindle would just have a few deposits of the Fluioil scattered around, and based on how much shanix Deathsaurus actually had, he’d sell him the locations of those places. 

“C’n I just… get the massage one more time?” He asked Deathsaurus. “Rendorr’s face is just, so funny…”  
Rendor’s massages had gotten almost painful near the end, but it’d been worth it just to see the mech so annoyed. 

Deathsaurus looked like he wanted to throw Swindle into his ship by his kibble, but he managed to stay civil and simply push Swindle into his pilot’s seat a little rougher.   
Swindle thanked him, engaged he autopilot to his next destination, and settled in to sleep off his day of luxury and pampering.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the end seems kind of rushed - I was not anywhere near done when my time was up, and I decided to wrap things up as quickly as I could. This is really not that polished or well thought out, but I had fun with it and I hope that if you read it, you did too! 
> 
> I hope to do a few more of these challenges.


End file.
